PhD.

I passed! I passed! I passed!

Uber-Geek.

No, this isn't a post about Richie I'm afraid. Just another boastful entry about my Scrabble score. Today I finally managed to break through the 500 point barrier. To say I'm pleased at my geekery would be an understatement.

Look!

I'm hard.

28

I keep laughing at this.

New favourite quote #11.

"Goodnight Mom"

Mitch a minute ago after I tucked her in and told her I was going to bed as she lay napping on the couch, 12/12/07.

I'm not sure whether to laugh or be worried...

New favourite quote #10.

"Did the 7-11 people ever tell you if the mushroom stand was okay?"

Mitch about 2 minutes ago after she woke up still dreaming, 12/12/07.

Oor Morrissie.

It looks like Viz has a wee thing for Stevie as well:


Ho ho!

Tuna kiss.

So I asked Mitch for a kiss, which she objected to giving me. So what did she do instead? Leaned over, pretended to give me a kiss then promptly cupped her mouth over my nose and blew her manky tuna and celery breath right up my nose. I feel violated.

Classic console gaming.

In case my posts about traipsing around Perth as a nipper and favourite games didn't already indicate, I have a history with console games. Thus, it was to my delight that I found these! (you might want to turn the sound down if you're in work!)


Classic Arcade Games


Classic Arcade Games


Classic Arcade Games


Classic Arcade Games


Classic Arcade Games

* Apologies for the links- they don't allow you to include the games without em.

In reference.

In reference to my Morrissey post earlier, here here is a link to Tim Jonze's blog on the Guardian website stating quite clearly and unequivocally that "Every single quote attributed to Morrissey in my interview with him is correct, and I stand by them" and "How can Morrissey possibly claim a stich up when the interview is printed in Q&A form, his quotes are recorded on tape and he wasn't even asked about immigration in the first place? It's truly cowardly. If Morrissey holds these opinions he should either be sticking to his guns and standing by them or - more honorably - educating himself on race issues, realising why his comments were both offensive and inflamatory, and apologising for them as quickly as is humanly possible." So, if as Tim Jonze makes clear, there are tape recordings of what Steve-O said then I guess he did make those unpleasant comments and it'll be fun and games for him in court.

Mouldmaster or torture?

I came across this link detailng the delights of the Mitre Mouldmaster- the choice of all primary level educational establishments in Scotland for football. Of course, once Scott McLeod got a Mitre Delta leather/plastic ball of his own we avoided the Mouldmaster like the plague. The above link tells you exactly why we did. I still shudder at the thought of it smacking you on the bare leg in the middle of winter. Ouch! In primary school we played class against class- I was in the B class. So it went 1a vs 1b, then when we moved up a year it was 2a vs 2b and so on. We played the same teams for 7 years. And people say the SPL is boring? Nonsense! We had great times. And for any primary school readers of my blog, or those raising children I recommend printing out the following rules for playground fitba so as not to lead into any trouble (shamelessly lifted from the interwebnet by the way) (and by the internet I mean Christopher Brookmyre):

The Rules of Playground Football

Matches shall be played over three unequal periods: two playtimes and a lunchtime. Each of these periods shall begin shortly after the ringing of a bell, and although a bell is also rung towards the end of these periods, play may continue for up to ten minutes afterwards, depending on the nihilism or “bottle” of the participants with regard to corporal punishment met out to latecomers back to the classroom.

In practice there is a sliding scale of nihilism, from those who hasten to stand in line as soon as the bell rings, known as “poofs”, through those who will hang on until the time they estimate it takes the teachers to down the last of their gins and journey from the staffroom, known as “chancers”, and finally to those who will hang on until a teacher actually has to physically retrieve them, known as “bampots”.

This sliding scale is intended to radically alter the logistics of a match in progress, often having dramatic effects on the scoreline as the number of remaining participants drops. It is important, therefore, in picking the sides, to achieve a fair balance of poofs, chancers and bampots in order that the scoreline achieved over a sustained period of play - a lunchtime, for instance - is not totally nullified by a five-minute post-bell onslaught of five bampots against one.

The scoreline to be carried over from the previous period of the match is in the trust of the last bampots to leave the field of play, and may be the matter of some debate.

This must be resolved in one of the approved manners (see Adjudication).

Parameters

The object is to force the ball between two large, unkempt piles of jackets, in lieu of goalposts. These piles may grow or shrink throughout the match, depending on the number of participants and the prevailing weather. As the number of players increases, so shall the piles. Each jacket added to the pile by a new addition to a side should be placed on the inside, nearest the goalkeeper, thus reducing the target area.

It is also important that the sleeve of one of the jackets should jut out across the goalmouth, as it will often be claimed that the ball went “over the post” and it can henceforth be asserted that the outstretched
sleeve denotes the innermost part of the pile and thus the inside of the post.

The on-going reduction of the size of the goal is the responsibility of any respectable defence and should be undertaken conscientiously with resourcefulness and imagination.

In the absence of a crossbar, the upper limit of the target area is observed as being slightly above head height, although when the height at which a ball passed between the jackets is in dispute, judgement shall lie with an arbitrary adjudicator from one of the sides. He is known as the “best fighter”; his decision is final and may be enforced with physical violence if anyone wants to stretch a point.

In games on large open spaces, the length of the pitch is obviously denoted by the jacket piles, but the width is a variable. In the absence of roads, water hazards or “a big dug”, the width is determined by how far out the attacking winger has to meander before the pursuing defender gets fed up and lets him head back towards where the rest of the players are waiting, often as far as quarter of a mile away.

It is often observed that the playing area is “no’ a full-size pitch”. This can be invoked verbally to justify placing a wall of players eighteen inches from the ball at direct free kicks It is the formal response to “yards”, which the kick-taker will incant meaninglessly as he places the ball.

The Ball

There is a variety of types of ball approved for Primary School Football. I shall describe the most popular:

The rough-finish Mitre or Trophy 5. Half football, half Portuguese Man o’ War. On the verge of a ban in the European Court of Human Rights, this model is not for sale to children. Used exclusively by teachers during gym classes as a kind of aversion therapy. Made from highly durable fibre-glass, stuffed with neutron star and coated with dead jellyfish. Advantages: looks quite grown up, makes for high-scoring matches (keepers won’t even attempt to catch it). Disadvantages: scars or maims anything it touches.

Offside

There is no offside, for two reasons: one, “it’s not’ a full-size pitch”, and two, none of the players actually know what offside is. The lack of an offside rule gives rise to a unique sub-division of strikers. These players hang around the opposing goalmouth while play carries on at the other end, awaiting a long pass forward out of defence which they can help past the keeper before running the entire length of the pitch with their arms in the air to greet utterly imaginary adulation. These are known variously as “poachers”, “gloryhunters” and “fly wee bastarts”.

Adjudication

The absence of a referee means that disputes must be resolved between the opposing teams rather than decided by an arbiter. There are two accepted ways of doing this. 1. Compromise. An arrangement is devised that is found acceptable by both sides. Sway is usually given to an action that is in accordance with the spirit of competition, ensuring that the game does not turn into “a pure skoosh”. For example, in the event of a dispute as towhether the ball in fact crossed the line, or whether the ball has gone inside or “over” the post, the attacking side may offer the ultimatum: “Penalty or goal.” It is not recorded whether any side has ever opted for the latter. It is on occasions that such arrangements or ultimata do not prove acceptable to both sides that the second adjudicatory method comes into play.

Team Selection

To ensure a fair and balanced contest, teams are selected democratically in a turns-about picking process, with either side beginning as a one-man selection committee and growing from there. The initial selectors are usually the recognised two Best Players of the assembled group. Their first selections will be the two recognised Best Fighters, to ensure a fair balance in the adjudication process, and to ensure that they don’t have their own performances impaired throughout the match by profusely bleeding noses. They will then proceed to pick team-mates in a roughly meritocratic order, selecting on grounds of skill and tactical awareness, but not forgetting that while there is a sliding scale of players’ ability, there is also a sliding scale of players’ brutality and propensities towards motiveless violence. A selecting captain might baffle a talented striker by picking the less nimble Big Jazza ahead of him, and may explain, perhaps in the words of Linden B Johnson upon his retention of J Edgar Hoover as the head of the FBI, that he’d “rather have him inside the tent ****ing out, than outside the tent ****ing in”. Special consideration is also given during the selection process to the owner of the ball. It is tacitly acknowledged to be “his gemme”, and he must be shown a degree of politeness for fear that he takes the huff at being picked late and withdraws his favours. Another aspect of team selection that may confuse those only familiar with the game at senior level will be the choice of goalkeepers, who will inevitably be the last players to be picked. Unlike in the senior game, where the goalkeeper is often the tallest member of his team, in the playground, the goalkeeper is usually the smallest. Senior aficionados must appreciate that playground selectors have a different agenda and are looking for altogether different properties in a goalkeeper. These can be listed briefly as: compliance, poor fighting ability, meekness, fear and anything else that makes it easier for their team-mates to banish the wee bugger between the sticks while they go off in search of personal glory up the other end.

Tactics

Playground football tactics are best explained in terms of team formation. Whereas senior sides tend to choose - according to circumstance - from among a number of standard options (eg 4-4-2, 4-3-3, 5-3-2), the playground side is usually more rigid in sticking to the all-purpose 1-1-17 formation. This formation is a sturdy basis for the unique style of play, ball-flow and territorial give-and-take that makes the playground game such a renowned and strategically engrossing spectacle. Just as the 5-3-2 formation is sometimes referred to in practice as “Cattenaccio”, the 1-1-17 formation gives rise to a style of play that is best described as “Nomadic”. All but perhaps four of the participants (see also Offside) migrate en masse from one area of the pitch to another, following the ball, and it is tactically vital that every last one of them remains within a ten-yard radius of it at all times.

Stoppages

Much stoppage time in the senior game is down to injured players requiring treatment on the field of play. The playground game flows freer having adopted the refereeing philosophy of “no Post-Mortem, no free-kick”, and play will continue around and even on top of a participant who has fallen in the course of his endeavours. However, the playground game is nonetheless subject to other interruptions, and some examples are listed below.

1. Ball on school roof or over school wall. The retrieval time itself is negligible in these cases. The stoppage is most prolonged by the argument to decide which player must risk life, limb or four of the belt to scale the drainpipe or negotiate the barbed wire in order to return the ball to play. Disputes usually arise between the player who actually struck the ball and any others he claims it may have struck before disappearing into forbidden territory. In the case of the Best Fighter having been adjudged responsible for such an incident, a volunteer is often required to go in his stead or the game may be abandoned, as the Best Fighter is entitled to observe that A: “Ye canny make me”; or B: “It’s no’ ma baw anyway”.

2. Stray dog on pitch. An interruption of unpredictable duration. The dog does not have to make off with the ball, it merely has to run around barking loudly, snarling and occasionally drooling or foaming at the mouth. This will ensure a dramatic reduction in the number of playing staff as 27 of them simultaneously volunteer to go indoors and inform the teacher of the threat. The length of the interruption can sometimes be gauged by the breed of dog. A deranged Irish Setter could take ten minutes to tire itself of running in circles, for instance, while a Jack Russell may take up to fifteen minutes to corner and force out through the gates. An Alsatian means instant abandonment.

3. Bigger boys steal ball. A highly irritating interruption, the length of which is determined by the players’ experience in dealing with this sort of thing. The intruders will seldom actually steal the ball, but will improvise their own kickabout amongst themselves, occasionally inviting the younger players to attempt to tackle them. Standing around looking bored and unimpressed usually results in a quick restart. Shows of frustration and engaging in attempts to win back the ball can prolong the stoppage indefinitely. Informing the intruders that one of the players’ older brother is “Mad Chic Murphy” or some other noted local pugilist can also ensure minimum delay.

4. Celebration. Kneeling down to head the ball over the line when defence and keeper are already beaten will elicit a thoroughly deserved kicking. As a footnote, however, it should be stressed that any goal scored by the Best Fighter will be met with universal acclaim, even if it was lucky/crap/took a deflection.

Penalties

At senior level, each side often has one appointed penalty-taker, who will defer to a team-mate in special circumstances, such as his requiring one more for a hat-trick. The playground side has two appointed penalty-takers: the Best Player and the Best Fighter. The arrangement is simple: the Best Player takes the penalties when his side is a retrievable margin behind, and the Best Fighter at all other times. If the side is comfortably in front, the ball-owner may be invited to take a penalty. Goalkeepers are often the subject of temporary substitutions at penalties, forced to give up their position to the Best Player or Best Fighter, who recognise the kudos attached to the heroic act of saving one of these kicks, and are buggered if Wee Titch is going to steal any of it.

Close Season

This is known also as the Summer Holidays, which the players usually spend dabbling briefly in other sports: tennis for a fortnight while Wimbledon is on the telly; pitch-and-putt for four days during the Open; and cricket for about an hour and a half until they discover that it really is as boring to play as it is to watch.


My personal favourtite memory of playing playground fitba was when we stayed out late after the bell had gone one day (to take penalties to decide the winner of the lunchtime game on a Friday) which led to a group of us being denied our afternoon playtime and made to sit in the class. Not entirely remarkable but for the fact Barry Gray was swinging on his chair whilst holding his pencil in his hands that were cupped and sat on the desk in front of him. He was laughing so hard at something he swung forward and the pencil went flush right up his nose. I thought I was going to have a coronary at the age of 10 I was laughing so hard. Glory days indeed.

I never quite got The Smiths...

Primarily because I found/find Morrissey so objectionable. They have some very good songs certainly and I do like some of them, but any time Morrissey opens his mouth I find myself trying to control the urge not to break something. I did think for a while that maybe he had mellowed in his old age and that maybe he was more pleasant. Of course I was wrong. He's still a tube. Evidence? Well, have a look here here. It's an article in The Independent concerning an interview that he's given to the NME out today. Some choice cuts from the article if you can't be bothered reading the whole thing:

"England is a memory now," he says, in an interview with the NME published yesterday. "The gates are flooded and anybody can have access to England and join in."

and

"Although I don't have anything against people from other countries, the higher the influx into England the more the British identity disappears. So the price is enormous. Travel to England and you have no idea where you are. It matters because the British identity is very attractive. I grew up into it and I find it very quaint and amusing. Other countries have held on to their basic identity, yet it seems to me that England was thrown away."

Ah, of course! That old chestnut of conflating Britishness and Englishness. Indeed. I nearly forgot that Britain (purports) to represent Scotland, England, Ireland and Wales. And that's before I even get on to the irony of somebody who was shacked up in the Hollywood Hills for years, but now lives in Rome, who is the son of Irish immigrants talking about the gates being flooded and anyone getting access to join in. Yes, must have been a real killer for you to be able to be raised in England after your parents moved there, make all your money and then move to wherever you wanted to in the world, Steve. Xenophobic undertones? No not at all. Honest. Having made your money then buggered off after some less than well-received press in, oh wait! The NME! Surprise! Obviously Stevie-boy doesn't consider himself as diluting the culture of Rome or Hollywood whenever he decides to live somewhere other than where he was born. So is it on the basis of class or race that he has a problem with immigrants in Britain? Old Stevie makes his comments sufficiently vague as per usual so as to build up some mystery about what he really means. Only there's no real mystery is there?

What is the British identity anyway? Britain is a mongrel nation, just like more or less all nations. The notion of a particular British identity puzzles me. What is it? Allegiance to the Queen? Stiff upper lip? Adherence to the notion of Empire? Desire to be at the top table in world affairs? Pride in being a part of a group of countries? Drinking tea? Obviously most readers of this blog have a fairly good idea of what my opinions on the matter are, but I am genuinely puzzled by the ideal of a British identity. Morrissey's ill-advised comments regarding being flooded with immigrants are as repulsive as Enoch Powell's 'Rivers of Blood' speech nearly 40 years ago. Aye, maybe Morrissey is the new Enoch Powell?! Britain has a proud history of helping those less fortunate (well, except during times of Empire when it was busy shafting those less fortunate wherever possible) by providing a safe haven from persecution and it has contributed markedly towards Britain being a forward looking multicultural society. Even though I don't necessarily agree with the idea of there being a Britain per se, I still find Morrissey's musings offensive. He's controversial for the sake of being controversial- a desperate man desperate for reccognition in the twilight of his career. And here I am giving him it! Morrissey has the last laugh as always! A sad, desperate, misanthrope laughing at me? Boo hoo.

Social networking, Sonic and my youth.

So social networking is all the rage these days- facebook, myspace, bebo and so forth are all worth stupid amounts of money and used by stupid amounts of people. I put my hands up, I love playing scrabulous on facebook and it is a great way to keep in contact with people as well as finding people you haven't seen in donkey's years. However, even more fun than any of that is finding ancient console games that you haven't played since you were 11. Like Sonic! Anyone with a facebook account can play it here. Anyone without a facebook account can play it here. It reminded me of Saturday afternoons spent in Perth walking from the Scottish Power shop to John Menzies to CA Games in the hope that one of their console advertisement games would be available to play. Scottish Power had Sonic, John Menzies had F-Zero and CA Games had the holy grail of SNES gaming, Street Fighter II Turbo- imported from America! I remember watching a Street Fighter II tournament of all the supposedly best gamers in Perth in this crammed little shop and being quite jealous that I wasn't involved. In saying that these guys were in their twenties and clearly total geeks so in retrospect there's not so much jealousy going on now. I do still love Street Fighter II though- I think it's unmatched in terms of one on one fighting games. That's not bad going for a game that's about 14 years old or so. Or I've just not gotten over it. So, in honour of my misspent youth (and not so youthful) game playing, my favourite games in no particular order are:

1. Street Fighter Two Turbo (SNES)
2. Goldeneye (N64- is there a more fun four player game?)
3. Championship Manager (PC/Mac- I've lost months of my life to this)
4. Pro Evolution Soccer 4 (XBox- probably my favourite football game)
5. Metal Gear Solid 2 (Playstation- so good!)
6. Mario Kart (SNES- Best. Driving. Game. Ever.)
7. Final Fight (SNES- although a poor relation to the arcade version that allowed you to play Guy)
8. Smackdown (Playstation- Royal Rumble option was AMAZING!)
9. Tetris (Gameboy- everyone's favourite right?)
10. Urban Strike (Sega Mega Drive- how much fun was it flying about Washington?)

Man, why can't there be one system that plays all the old console games you love with interchangeable joypads? Now THAT I would buy.

Personality test.

I'm always interested in personality tests that I either find or get sent to me on the web. I usually find them fairly easy to manipulate depending on what I feel like I want to be told that day. So this morning I became an animated leader! Look! PersonalDNA told me so. Or something. Scroll over each colour and you can see what it means.



Confidence
84

Openness
44

Extroversion
90

Empathy
26

Trust in others
100

Agency
22

Masculinity
90

Femininity
60

Spontaneity
60

Attention to style
48

Authoritarianism
12

Earthy/Imaginative
ImaginativeEarthy
74

Aesthetic/Functional
FunctionalAesthetic
64

Hmm an animated leader makes me think of Optimus Prime rather than a guy who jumps about a bunch whilst telling people what to do. I think I prefer my interpretation.

Glasgow, 2057.

As most readers will be aware, Glasgow was home to myself for around 9 years and continues to play a fairly dominant role in my life what with one of its universities employing me. So, it was with more than a touch of interest that I read this. Visions of Glasgow in 2057 as imagined by Glasgow School of Art studnts? Good stuff. I wonder what they came up with? Well, the BBC kindly offered some images of what the Dear Green Place would look like 50 years from now:


This apparently is what Glasgow Green Beach would look like, with all sorts of facilities along the banks. Like more hotels and stuff. I'm not entirely sure whether this is the North or South of the river. Probably the North right?


Kind of like a more modern Whitley Bay/Morecambe I suspect. Or indeed a Glasgow version of Coney Island?! Perhaps they could reimagine The Warriors with neds chasing each other? I'd be entertained to see the face painted baseball bat gang redone!

Then we'd have some boat racing by Hampden. Just the ticket for the regeneration of some of the poorest areas in Scotland!


When I think of boats and Glasgow I'm reminded of the Still Game episode when the neds drop a tv through Jack and Victor's dinghy on the Kelvin.

Which in no way shape or form leads me to the idea of a market under the M8! I like this idea- London has Porobello Market which stretches all the way down under the Westway road. Why would we have to wait until 2057 to do something London has had all these years? A big old farmers market on a weekend would be great. Just have to find a spot.


Below would be a wildlife reserve at Clydeport. I believe there is already one in Possil, another in Easterhouse and another in Shettleston. I think they call them housing schemes though.


And then there is the imagining (and I use the term advisedly) of Shawfield Stadium which would be Clyde FC's new home, and I quote "Fans would vote online every game to decide the colour of the stadium's outer skin depending on the mood of the crowd." I don't think it would take long to tally up 11 votes right enough.


We then have a City Farm! Again, London has one of these in Hackney and it is a great idea. Easy enough to implement and not difficult to maintain.


I do like how they've managed to keep those manky high-rises in the 'imagining'. Those things would be about 100 years old by this point. Does anybody seriously think they'll last that long? I very much doubt it. Basil Spence would be pleased to see them still in there though!

Then there is a new island creaated slap bang in the middle of the Clyde opposite the new BBC building.


I guess there is no harm in this since the Clyde is no longer a working river where the city surrounds it. Which is a bit of a shame really as there is no reason why it couldn't be.

Staying on the subject of the Clyde- here is an idea for a living bridge, like the Ponte Vecchio in Florence. I was a big fan of that idea for what is now the Clyde Arc, or as it is more colloquially known, the Squinty Bridge. A living bridge would have breathed far more life into the area south of the river, but instead we get a fairly unimaginative crossing. Now there is a surprise.


Lastly we have a 'new area' of Glasgow suggested based on London's cultural centre the Southbank. Sounds like a good idea, although the design below looks like an oversized version of the new BBC building. Hardly an attractive site for what could be an excellent idea.


Oh well.

All joking aside, I like that people are begining to think of Glagow again as a vibrant place where development can and should take place. In saying that, some of the ideas are not great, but they are at least thinking about it. Still, it kind of reminds me of an old newspaper clipping I found in the University of Glasgow's business archives in the Hugh Fraser collection:



Past futurology or present futurology? I think I like the idea of driving through the city at a 'compulsory 50mph!', if only to avoid being on the Kingston Bridge when it finally collapses! I'm quite sure that the ideas about Glasgow 50 years from now will probably be met with the same abject disgust that many people hold for the ideas of 50 years or so previously when concrete was becoming more and more prevalent in buildings. Still, it is at least good to have an idea of where the city may end up going that's not the dogs. (Shawfield excluded) Woof!

Birthday.

Since it was my birthday a few weeks ago I figured it would be a good idea to do a belated birthday blog of sorts.

People I'm not displeased to share my birthday with:

Adolf Dassler, founder of Adidas.
Charles Bronson, American actor.
John Barry, English composer.
Bert Jansch, Scottish folk musician.
Gerd Müller, German footballer.
Adam Ant, English singer.
Dolph Lundgren, Swedish actor.
Hal Hartley, American film director and writer.
Pablo Aimar, Argentine footballer.


People I'm not best pleased to share my birthday with:

Lulu, Plasticated British actress and singer.
Roseanne Barr, American actress and 'comedian'. The inverted commas are mine. She's about as funny as cot-death.
Ian Wright, English footballer. Celtc's best ever signing.
Robert Miles, Swiss record producer, composer and musician in trance and ambient music. Worst. Music. Ever.


People who had the misfortune to kick the bucket on my birthday:

Henri Matisse (he at least had the good grace to do it before I was born so as not to detract from my celebrations)

St Pancras.

St Pancras reopened yesterday, so I went along today for a wee look with Richie and Duncan. It's amazing! The roof looks fantastic and there is a very good meeting of old and new in it. I was so impressed I took a bunch of pictures, primarily of the roof. It has self-cleaning glass you know. Why can't our glasses be made of self-cleaning glass?







I like St Pancras. Although the Baby Betjeman cafe was crap- no veggie breakfast and it took an age to get a tea and a coffee. Still, it wasn't like there wasn't an amazing example of restored Victorian architecture to gawp at while we waited. When life gives you lemons and all that...

Nintendo Wii.

My sister has been hunting for one of these consoles for Christmas, which of course means she has roped me into looking for one. To cut a long story short, I found her one on the German Amazon site for about 200 quid. Which is a fair bit cheaper than what the profiteering bastards at PC World are selling their stock for. Have a look here. Unbelievable. I know the laws of supply and demand, but that's still an outrageous price. I suppose any idiot that is prepared to pay that for it deserves to be ripped off.

Some honeymoon snaps.

I realise it is the cliche that every newly married couple wants to show people their honeymoon snaps and how it is usually very boring for the viewer, but I don't care. It's my blog and if I want to post pictures of pretty things on it then I will! Don't worry, I don't feature in any of them. They are mostly of Loch Fyne and the surrounding area.

Par example:



The water was so still that it was almost impossible not to take a good picture.



Mitch was very keen to see what it was like.



So she went for a wee dip and got learned. I tried to tell her that Loch Fyne was a coastal loch and was freezing!



She looks much happier in this picture than she actually was. She was shivering so hard it looked like there were two of her.

Still, the sunset was so pretty that I took about a million photos, here are some:



The sun cast a pretty pall over the boats on the loch and their moorings.



And one more sunset for posterity:



Loch Fyne really is beautiful, about an hour and a bit from Glasgow and you could be in the middle of nowhere. Or 18 miles from Dunoon...



It has some lovely wildlife. You should be cautious though, there are red squirrels (?!).



Mitch was amused by the sign too:



The Loch also has a pretty castle at Inverary, of course. It's a funny green colour too:



Inverary also has the best looking car park I've seen in a long time, and possibly the oldest:


It dates to the 18th century. Who knew the Scots invented car parks before cars were even invented eh? Top bombing. That's another one added to the list.

After Inverary we went along the coast of the loch to the Loch Fyne Oyster Bar, a renowned shellfish and seafood purveyor. They had pretty shellfish:



That ended up on Mitch's plate!



Check the size of that crab.

The Loch Fyne Mirror.

Loch Fyne mirror 3, originally uploaded by mysterio!.

Can only be seen when the water is REALLY still...

I know I know!

I've already boasted about getting a good Scrabble score on Scrabulous on Facebook on here, but I managed another belter today that I feel obliged to share with you all. I managed to get all seven letters out on one move, as well as on TWO triple word score squares! I played unitages and garnered a total of 122 points for my troubles.

LOOK!:


I'm such a geek.

Guy Fawkes = Bam.

I don't think Guy Fawkes was a bam for any political reason, more that he inadvertently gave rise to the hideous concept of bonfire night and the ensuing cacophony of fireworks being set off for the weeks leading up to and after it. I loathe fireworks with every last ounce of my body. It is beyond me that for whatever reason people are given more or less free reign on gunpowder to do as they will. I was on the Tube today at North Wembley (that arch is massive by the way) when a group of schoolkids thought it would be entertaining to throw a firework into a crowded carriage. If it had caught fire on somebody's bag/jacket/whatever then you'd have been looking at a very dangerous and unpleasant situation. It didn't thankfullly, but it reinforced my abhorrence for the bloody things. They serve no discernible benefit to society, cause numerous injuries and deaths each year, are exceedingly dangerous and yet completely legal. Why? What good reason is there for it? They should be banned forthwith and the remaining jammed up the nearest fireworks advocate's backside to see how much they like them then. As I said, Guy Fawkes = Bam.

Well well well.

It turns out, according to a Herald report, that Scotland isn't the 'subsidy junky' filled nation Red Ken and that clown Kelvin MacKenzie (how it pains me to share a surname with this moron) have been claiming it is. More details here. Hmm, I guess that means that the SNP's claims may have been a little more accurate than the London-loving Scottish Labour Party gave them credit for. Now why does that not surprise me? Oh wait, is it because the Scottish Labour Party has consistently sold out to the South? Aye, in one. Quelle surprise!

Dear Ken and Kelvin,

Please read the above link with care and apologise for your inaccurate pronouncements and general ignorance of anything North of Watford. Oh and GIRUY you pair of muppets.

Best,

Niall

New favourite quote #9.

"I don't need to eat poo to know it tastes like crap."

- Mitch complaining about the juice I bought that she HASN'T EVEN tasted yet, 31/10/07.

My only source of REAL facts.

Click on the link to StackFacts on the right. It's the only source of REAL facts on the net. It's amazing what you can learn there.

Not really the last bastion of impartiality, but...

I saw this on the Telegraph's website. Nice to see those political luminaries Claire "Tony Lied to me!" Short and Gorgeous George Galloway providing such value for money. I for one never doubted Galloway's commitment to parliamentary democracy when he was prancing around on Celebrity Big Brother dressed in a fetching red spandex leotard with Pete Burns in tow.



Not once. Honest.

Sorry for the hiatus.

I was away for a little while, doing 'stuff'. Lots of exciting things of course- so exciting that I took my eye off the ball and neglected to tell you all about what I was doing over the last few weeks. Oopsie. Here's more or less how I look these days for those of you that have forgotten:


Turns out I was on Crimewatch! For being so AWESOME! Or not. Looks too chubby round the puss for it to be me I reckon. The picture is courtesy of http://flashface.ctapt.de/

Berlusconi.

Wee Silvio Berlusconi is an 'interesting' character don't you think? I mean, he's a successful businessman- the richest in Italy, owns the country's most successful football team- AC Milan, several time European Cup and Serie A winners, owns one of Italy's largest media companies and has been Italian PM three times. In spite of Silvio's obvious success in life, he maintains what he calls a 'connection' with the Italian working classes, playing all sorts of practical jokes befitting of a man of his position. Or something. Look!



Not quite sure how that has anything to do with the working classes. Even still, given Berlusconi's position I'm a wee bit surprised by that video, if a little amused about thinking of Tony Blair doing the same. Perhaps not the best way to mental health. To be fair to Silvio, he has got form in this arena. After a spat with the Finns over the location of the European Food Safety Authority in Parma, Silvio claimed he had to "dust off my English-language playboy skills" with the Finnish president, Tarja Halonen, to convince her to locate the EFSA there; a comment he later retracted saying "anyone who had seen a picture of Halonen must have been aware that he had been joking".

Silvio:


He's the one in the middle.

Tarja Halonen:


Hmm, no man in a bandana should be casting aspersions on another's appearance I feel. Just a rule of thumb that I have.

Except this guy:

I feel bad.

Since I posted that picture of Mitchy that was, shall we say not entirely flattering, here is another.


Believe it or not it was the first time I ever clapped eyes on her, although I didn't take the picture- I'm not a stalker you know. Honest. It was Amber wot did it! Isn't Mitchy pretty though?

Chucking Buns Across The Fence? Governmental Planning and Regeneration Projects in the Scottish Highland Economy, 1945-82.

324 pages.
107,358 words.
2665 paragraphs.
11,031 lines.
4 years.
6 homes.
2 broken relationships.
1 wonderful engagement.
3 cities.
4 conferences.
£83.60 in binding charges.
3 soft bound copies.
2 electronic copies.

As Gordon Ramsay might say, DONE!

Wife to be.

Just so you all know who to look out for on our wedding day, this is Mitch:


Isn't she pretty? The photo is courtesy of Amber, who can be found entertaining us all at the link ambertines on the right hand side. Thanks Amber!

Oh and I should note that that's not a mask she's wearing, okay? Honest.

Hmm, what to do?

So, I poisoned my finger. What do I do? Do I prick it and squeeze it all out or leave it? No prizes for guessing what Mitch would have me do eh sweetie?! Seriously though, I need guidance. And be warned I may post the pictures up depending on the consensus...

It's a real test for us...

Then BAM!



As good as that clip is (I may have watched it, oh about 75 times or so), I think it would have been bettered only if Peter Martin was doing the commentary on the tv like this.

Click on the link posted 12/09/2007 23:57:10 and listen to his reaction to McFadden's goal. Probably safe to say that was the reaction of most Scots listening/watching the game.

Airblade vs. Trezeguet.

I was going to post about how the Dyson Airblade changed my life, but it all seems to pale into insignificance next to this:


David after France humping us 5-0 last time we played em in France.


David after Wee Jim's goal.

In time honoured Scots tradition, there is only one thing for it. Trezeguet, GIRUY! A bad loser is usually accepted, a bad winner almost never. Except now! Ah schadenfreude, why are you so good to me?

Serious question.

Is this the breakfast of kings?



It is a serious question! I had it this morning and I haven't eaten so well since yesterday at Blah Blah Blah on Goldhawk Road. I wish I had taken my camera with me- Mitch and I had the best meal I've eaten since the week before in Zippy's cafe a few doors down. Who knew of the culinary delights that awaited me in Shepherd's Bush?

So back to the question- breakfast of kings, aye or naw? If naw, I need an alternative. The closest I can think of is porridge with Nutella. I call it the Auld Alliance breakfast du jour.

A thing of beauty.

I love Scrabble. it's one of my favourite games. It saddens me that I no longer get to play it face to face very often, so imagine how pleased I was to find that Facebook had it in an application called Scrabulous. Pretty pleased. Not as pleased as when I played the word 'tentacle' for all 7 letters out and a 50 point bonus. I was very pleased about that. Not as pleased as after my next go which will be ANOTHER 7 letter word out and ANOTHER 50 point bonus! LOOK!


I love Scrabble. I suppose you'll be wanting proof of my play though?

Here it's!


Who would have thought the word 'invalid' would make someone so happy? And before any of you start trying to burst my bubble- I play the games for a couple of minutes over the course of a few days. And yes, the thesis is *nearly* done. Honest.

Still, two 7 letter words in a row. That NEVER happens to me. I'm so glad blogger allows me to document this milestone in my life.

Laughing at the kitties.

I've primarily been laughing at this over the last day. Particularly the picture where it says 'Sup'. Every time I see it I crack up. I love the kitties.

London Traffic.

You all know how much London traffic sucks right? What's the answer? Well, as good as the Tube is, it is prone to delays due to all kinds of silly reasons. Primarily staff shortages if any of the announcements I cock my head to are correct. So what to do? Hmm, I think this might be the answer:

Hame to be.

Anyone wanna see Mitch and I's new matrimonial home to be?

Have a look here and here then. We'll have a spare room, which means of course that we'll be expecting visitors. Lots of them. That means YOU.

Oh dear.

I know this almost certainly isn't true, but it makes me laugh nonetheless:

Putting it about with Putin.

Vladimir Putin- master of all he surveys. I kind of love Mad Vlad. Or rather, not so Mad Vlad. He's like the archetypal bogey man brought to life. Scary eyes? Check. Ability to instill fear into all and sundry? Check. Kill you with his bare hands? Check. Vlad's a man's man. Now, I've known this since the first time I clapped eyes on him, but the Guardian on Wednesday in its infitinite wisdom decided to show everyone just how it is to be Vladimir Putin with its feature 'Putin's guide to being a real man' you can access here.

Sadly, the link doesn't contain the fanstasic pictures that accompanied the piece and demonstrated Putin's machoness (I know that's probably not a word) to the full. Luckily, google image search does. Not content with scaring the bejeezus out of anyone of a nervous disposition when it comes to oil and gas supplies in Europe, Vlad decided it would be a good idea to get some photos taken to demonstrate his manliness. Here's a few for your perusal.

Vlad showing up James Bond for the fictional character he is:


I particularly like the balaclaved men in the background. No such disguise for Vlad. It'd impair his ability to SCARE you to death with his face. Probably by looking at you like this:


Moving on to a more lighter side, Vlad decided to go fishing. Waders, green ghillie, checked shirt, wee hat with your hooks on it- those are what I think of when I think of fisherman. Not Vlad. Top off, army khakis and a pair of army-issue boots for the big man!


As hard as I try, I just can't shake the thought of Gordon Brown, Tony Blair or oor ain Alex Salmond pulling off the topless fishing look. But with Vlad? Well, he's clearly a natural. I wonder if he conducts government meetings topless as well, just because he can?

I particularly like this one:


No question, Vlad is a MAN! Or even, THE MAN! Or something. Vlad obviously knows when it's time to get out the guns and when to conceal. Or perhaps a halfway house for the two? Say a vest?


I think we're straying into gay icon territory here. I'm sure Vlad doesn't mind. I mean what kind of gay icon would dress like this picture below?


I mean, come on! Jean Paul Gaultier is a thief! Vlad did it first! Since, he's had his style stolen by one OF the most famous gay fashion designers, I think Vlad has decided to adopt a more tough guy stance, particularly in his foreign policy. For example, he visited Japan and 'accidentally' wandered on to a judo mat without his shoes on. Of course, once on the mat he then had to smite the Japanese Judo chapion with a Harai Goshi.


At least I think that's what happened.

Of course, Vlad manages to project a tough guy image around the world, but deep down we all know that he's really a very sweet family man right? WRONG! Or maybe half wrong. Vlad has some golden rules about women you see- you can read all about them here- but the short synopsis is this: 1) "A woman must do everything in the home" and 2) "You should not praise a woman otherwise you will spoil her." Sage words Vlad, sage words. Of course, I shan't be following them (honest Mitch!). My other favourite Putinism from that article is that he reportedly once told a boy laid up in hospital with a broken leg after being hit by a car: "That'll teach you to break traffic regulations." He could just as easily have said that it learned him, but who's realistically going to argue with Vlad?

I did wonder how I should finish this post off. I mean, what else is there to say? Vlad's impeccable manliness says it all really. Then it struck me! Vlad is pretty scary right? Could you make him even scarier? Probably not? WRONG!


Here's a photo of the world's scariest diplomant with the world's craziest diplomat- and they look friendly! Oh crap! Also, I should note that according to StackFacts the gentleman who's moustache you can see in between the two is almost certainly hiding the word RACIST underneath said moustache. Just so you know.